Saber strode confidently into the room, his eyes scanning the dwarves as he locked the door behind him. In response, the dwarves sprang into action, rushing to the side of the room where their weapons were kept. Each dwarf retrieved a formidable war hammer or war axe, weapons that were nearly as tall as they were. Their determined expressions masked the fear that flickered within their eyes, a fear they couldn't fully conceal.
A faint chuckle escaped Saber's lips as he surveyed the sight before him. The image of these stout dwarves, with their long beards and sturdy frames, standing defiantly against him, amused him greatly. Yet, beneath his amusement, Saber could sense the deep-rooted apprehension that gripped the dwarves. They understood the overwhelming power he possessed, and it haunted their every thought.
"What does the Dark Lord want?" one of the dwarf leaders spoke up, his voice laced with a mixture of defiance and desperation, hoping to delay the inevitable confrontation. But deep down, the dwarves knew there was no reinforcement that could match the might of this death angel sent by the Dark Lord.
"You know what the Dark Lord wants, dwarves," Saber replied, his voice carrying a chilling undertone. A devilish grin played upon his lips, as he relished the fear that washed over the dwarves. "The Dark Lord has given you four days to dismantle your clan. Should you choose to defy his will, you will witness the true extent of the Dark Lord's power."
The dwarves trembled involuntarily, their minds unable to shake off the tales of the Dark Lord's devastation. They had heard the rumors, the accounts of how he effortlessly obliterated the Guardian Guild, an organization far superior to their own in terms of raw cultivation power.
The dwarves had established their clan with the sole purpose of toppling the elven empress and her empire, never intending to engage the Dark Lord directly. They were fully aware of their own limitations when it came to facing such a formidable foe. However, the audacity of the Dark Lord's focus on their clan infuriated them, stoking a fiery determination within their hearts.
Though fear and anger mingled within them, the dwarves understood that their options were limited. The choice before them was stark: dismantle their clan and potentially spare themselves from the Dark Lord's wrath, or defiantly challenge fate and face the full force of his fury.
"Why the bloody hell is he targeting our clan? We haven't done a damn thing to provoke the Dark Lord," growled another dwarf, his frustration echoing through the hall.
Saber, his hands clasped behind his back, began to pace slowly in a circle, his eyes fixed on the dwarves before him. The air crackled with tension as he spoke, his voice laced with a calm but undeniable authority.
"The Dark Lord has granted you four days for a reason. Understand this, the great eight clans will all crumble under the weight of the Dark Lord's power, one way or another," Saber explained, his words carrying a weight of truth that settled upon the dwarves like a heavy burden. "You dwarves are not foolish. You've heard the tales of what befell the Guardian Guild. No one is coming to save you. Spare yourselves the bloodshed and dismantle your clan."
A silent understanding passed between the dwarves, their gazes meeting and reflecting the fear that simmered within each of them. They knew that survival and the opportunity to plot the downfall of the elven empire were of paramount importance. To foolishly face the wrath of the Dark Lord would be to seal their own demise.
"Is the Dark Lord targeting Gondolin as well?" questioned another dwarf, their curiosity momentarily breaking through the tense atmosphere. The dwarves' deep-rooted animosity towards the elven empire burned brightly, even in the face of their current predicament.
"He is," Saber replied, his voice tinged with a hint of indifference. "But your primary concern should be your own fate, dwarves. The Dark Lord merely wishes for the dismantling of your clan. He won't impede your pursuit of vengeance against the elves. His aim is to eradicate the great eight clans altogether."
A contemplative silence settled over the room as the dwarves absorbed Saber's words. Their minds churned with thoughts of the looming threat, their hatred for the elven empire intertwined with the knowledge that the Dark Lord's power was not to be underestimated.
"The Dark Lord may think he's invincible, but mark my words, lad, he cannot win against the Skyhall," spoke the oldest dwarf, his voice carrying a sense of wisdom acquired over countless years.
Saber's laughter echoed through the hall, a sound filled with amusement and something far colder. "Where was the Skyhall when the Dark Lord decimated the Guardian Guild? If you expect the Skyhall to come to your aid, you'll be sorely disappointed. Besides," his tone turned solemn, his words laden with an air of finality, "The Dark Lord has already won. This is just maintenance,"
A mix of resignation and defiance flickered in the dwarves' eyes as they grappled with the harsh reality of their situation. The weight of their decision pressed heavily upon them, as they contemplated whether to dismantle their cherished clan or risk annihilation at the hands of the Dark Lord. The room fell into a heavy silence, broken only by the distant echoes of their own thoughts as they wrestled with the dire choices that lay before them.
"Can we trust the Dark Lord's word that he won't attack us once we dismantle the clan?" questioned the oldest dwarf, resignation etched into his weathered face. It seemed there was no escape from their current predicament.
Saber's gaze remained steady as he locked eyes with the aged dwarf, his voice calm but laced with an underlying intensity. "The Dark Lord is not one to break his word, dwarf. If he desired your destruction, it would have already been swift and merciless."
Coming to a halt, Saber regarded the dwarves before him, their expressions a mix of trepidation and begrudging acceptance. The atmosphere in the room grew heavy as they contemplated their options and the inevitable sacrifices they would have to make.
"The Dark Lord has another request, dwarves," Saber continued, his voice carrying a note of calculation. "He seeks access to the abundant mines and metal reserves you possess. He requires the necessary metals to forge armor for his growing army. I know that this proposition may appear burdensome, but consider it a small price to pay in the grand scheme of things."
The oldest dwarf scoffed, a hint of frustration coloring his tone. "So, he wants to extort us as well?"
Saber's silence spoke volumes, his deadly gaze fixated on the questioning dwarf. The air seemed to thicken with tension, causing the dwarf to wither under Saber's piercing stare. The others, realizing the gravity of the situation, exchanged uneasy glances and murmured in agreement.
"It seems we have little choice but to comply," another dwarf reluctantly admitted, voicing the sentiment shared by the rest of the clan.
"We can't stop you, but for the love of the mountain, don't clean us out entirely," added another dwarf, the frustration in his voice tinged with resignation.
Saber's smile returned, though its edges held a touch of menace. Clapping his hands together, he exuded an air of twisted satisfaction.
"Now, if you would be so kind as to lead me to your vault, I will gather the necessary metals and leave you to make your fateful decision," Saber proclaimed, his voice carrying a mix of authority and a dark sense of finality.
The dwarves led Saber to the center of the grand hall, where a round table stood adorned with various intricate carvings. Each dwarf removed a unique ring from their fingers, placing it carefully into a hollowed-out space in front of their seat. As the rings settled into their designated places, a brilliant glow emitted from each one, casting a radiant light across the room.
To the astonishment of the dwarves, the round table split open with a low rumble, revealing a hidden staircase leading downward into the depths of the earth. The steps were hewn from sturdy stone, illuminated by soft torchlight that flickered eerily in the dimly lit underground path.
With trepidation mingling with a glimmer of hope, the dwarves embarked on the descent, Saber following closely behind. His presence brought a modicum of reassurance as he spoke in a steady voice, attempting to calm their anxieties.
"Fear not, dwarves. The Dark Lord does not covet your treasures. His focus lies on the metals needed for his army's armors and swords," Saber explained, his tone carrying a note of sincerity.
The dwarves exchanged glances, their curiosity piqued as they navigated the winding path. One of the dwarves, his voice laden with concern, broke the silence. "We've heard rumors, tales of the Dark Lord taking many of our kin and forcing them to build his grand castle. Are these rumors true?"
Saber's laughter rang through the cavernous space, bouncing off the stone walls. "Slaves, you say? Oh, how the rumors can twist and turn. Let me enlighten you, my dear dwarves. Those who have joined the Dark Lord's construction projects are far from being slaves. They receive a handsome sum of gold coins for their services every month, and their nights are filled with joyful drink parties."
The dwarves stopped in their tracks, their eyes widening in disbelief. The notion that their kin were not mere slaves but rather well-compensated workers and revelers shook their preconceived notions. A moment of silence passed as they contemplated this revelation, their minds racing with newfound possibilities.
"If what you say is true," one dwarf muttered, his voice tinged with uncertainty, "then there may be more to the Dark Lord than meets the eye."
Saber nodded, a knowing smile playing upon his lips. "Indeed, dwarves. The Dark Lord's intentions may not align with what you've been led to believe. But for now, let us focus on the path ahead. We have metals to collect and decisions to make."
The dwarves' curiosity burned brightly as they continued their descent, their questions still lingering in the air. Finally, unable to contain their inquisitiveness any longer, one of the dwarves spoke up.
"Why is the Dark Lord going against the Skyhall and the Great Eight clans? What is his end game?" the dwarf asked, his voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and concern.
Saber, his eyes gleaming with a hint of understanding, turned to face the dwarf. "The Dark Lord is not so different from you dwarves, seeking revenge against the elves who stripped you of your cultivation power," he answered. "It was the Skyhall and the Great Eight clans who instigated the conflict with the Dark Lord. He is merely defending himself and seeking justice."
The dwarves exchanged knowing glances, a flicker of recognition dancing in their eyes. They had long carried the weight of their grievances against the elves, their desire for retribution simmering within their hearts. The revelation that the Dark Lord shared a similar motivation resonated with them on a deep level.
Their descent through the underground path came to an end as they reached a massive iron vault, standing tall and imposing before them. The dwarves approached it with reverence, their hands moving in a rhythmic pattern as they tapped on the door. With each tap, the vault responded, its mechanisms whirring and clanking until, at last, it swung open with a mighty creak.
The sight that met their eyes was nothing short of breathtaking. The vault revealed its hidden treasures, glistening in the dim light. Gold and silver coins, precious gems, and magnificent artifacts adorned the shelves and gleamed from within ornate chests. The glimmer of the treasures cast a mesmerizing light upon Saber's face, illuminating the longing and determination etched upon his features.
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